Prodigy (30 page)

T
WO DAYS HAVE PASSED.
O
R, MORE PRECISELY, FIFTY-
two hours and eight minutes have passed since Day climbed to the top of the Capitol
Tower and announced his support for our Elector. Whenever I close my eyes, I can still
see him up there, his hair gleaming like a beacon of light against the night, his
words ringing out clear and strong across the city and the country. Whenever I dream,
I can feel the burn of his last kiss on my lips, the fire and fear behind his eyes.
Every person in the Republic heard him that night. He gave power back to Anden and
Anden won over the country, all in one blow.

This is my second day in a hospital chamber on the outskirts of Denver. The second
afternoon without Day at my side. In a room several doors down, Day is undergoing
the same tests, both to ensure his health and make sure the Colonies didn’t implant
any monitoring devices in his head. He’s going to be reunited with his brother at
any minute. My doctor has arrived to check on my recovery—but he won’t be doing it
in any sort of privacy. In fact, when I study my room’s ceiling, I see security cameras
at every corner, broadcasting my image live to the public. The Republic is afraid
to give people even the slightest sense that Day and I aren’t being taken care of.

A monitor on the wall shows me Day’s chamber. It is the
only
reason I agreed to be separated from him for this long. I wish I could talk to him.
As soon as they stop running X-rays and sensors on me, I’m putting on a mike.

“Good morning to you, Ms. Iparis,” my doctor says to me as nurses dot my skin with
six sensors. I mumble a greeting in return, but my attention stays on the cam footage
of Day talking to his own doctor. His arms are crossed in a defiant stance and his
expression’s skeptical. Now and then his attention focuses on a spot on the wall that
I can’t see. I wonder if he’s watching me through a cam too.

My doctor notices what’s distracting me and wearily answers my question before I can
ask it. “You’ll see him soon, Ms. Iparis. Okay? I promise. Now, you know the drill.
Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

I bite down my frustration and do as he says. Lights flicker behind my eyelids, and
then a cold, tingly sensation runs through my brain and down my spine. They put a
gel-like mask over my mouth and nose. I always have to tell myself not to panic during
this sequence, to fight down the claustrophobia and feeling of drowning.
They’re just testing me,
I repeat quietly. They’re testing me for any remnants of Colonies brainwashing, for
mental stability, for whether or not the Elector—the Republic—can trust me fully.
That’s all.

Hours go by. Finally, it stops, and the doctor tells me I can open my eyes again.

“Well done, Iparis,” he says as he types something out on his notepad. “Your cough
may linger, but I think you’ve survived the worst of your illness. You can stay longer
if you’d like”—he smiles at the exasperated frown on my face—“but if you’d prefer
to be discharged to your new apartment, we can arrange that today as well. At any
rate, the glorious Elector is anxious to speak with you before you leave here.”

“How is Day?” I ask. It’s difficult for me to keep the impatience out of my voice.
“When can I see him?”

The doctor frowns. “Didn’t we just discuss this? Day will be released shortly after
you. First he’ll need to see his brother.”

I study his face carefully. There’s a reason the doctor hesitated just now—something
about Day’s recovery. I can see the subtle twitch under the doctor’s facial muscles.
He knows something I don’t.

The doctor snaps me back to reality. He drops his notepad to his side, straightens,
and plants an artificial smile on his face. “Well, that’s all for today. Tomorrow
we’ll begin your formal integration back into the Republic, with your new career assignment.
The Elector will arrive in a few minutes, and you’ll have some time beforehand to
regain your bearings.” With that, he and the nurses take their sensors and machines
and leave me alone.

I sit on my bed and keep my eyes on the door. A dark red cloak is wrapped around my
shoulders, but I still don’t feel entirely warm in this room. By the time Anden comes
in to see me, I’m shivering.

He steps inside with his signature grace, wearing silent dark boots and black scarf
and uniform, his curls of hair perfectly trimmed, thin-rimmed glasses sitting neatly
on his nose. When he sees me, he smiles and salutes. The gesture reminds me painfully
of Metias, and I have to focus down on my feet for a few seconds to compose myself.
Fortunately, he seems to think I’m bowing.

“Elector,” I greet him.

He smiles; his green eyes sweep over me. “How are you feeling, June?”

I smile back. “Well enough.”

Anden laughs a little and lowers his head. He steps closer, but he doesn’t try to
sit next to me on the bed. I can still see the attraction in his eyes, the way he
lingers on every word I say and every move I make. Surely he must have heard rumors
by now about my relationship with Day? If he knows, though, he doesn’t reveal it.
“The Republic,” he continues, embarrassed that I’ve caught him staring, “that is,
the government has decided that you are fit to return to the military with your original
rank intact. As an Agent, here in Denver.”

So, I’m not going back to Los Angeles. The last I heard, LA’s quarantine had been
lifted after Anden began an investigation into the Senate’s traitors—and both Razor
and Commander Jameson were arrested for treason. I can only imagine how much Jameson
hates Day and me now . . . even the thought of what the fury on her face must look
like sends a chill down my spine.

“Thank you,” I say after a while. “I’m very grateful.”

Anden waves a hand in the air. “No need. You and Day have done me a great service.”

I give him a quick, casual salute. Already Day’s influence is being felt—after his
impromptu speech, Congress and the military obeyed Anden in allowing protesters to
return unpunished to their homes and releasing the Patriots who had been arrested
during the assassination attempt (under monitored conditions). If the Senate didn’t
fear Day before, they do now. He has the power for the time being to ignite a full-scale
revolution with only a few choice words.

“But . . .”
Anden’s volume drops and he pulls his hands out of his pockets to cross them in front
of his chest. “I have a different proposition for you. I think you deserve a more
important position than
Agent.
”

A memory surfaces of when I was on that train with him, of the unspoken offer hanging
on his lips. “What kind of position?”

For the first time, he decides to sit down with me on the edge of my bed. He’s so
close now that I can feel the light whisper of his breath on my skin and see the stubble
shadowing his chin. “June,” he begins, “the Republic has never been more unstable
than it is now. Day brought it back from the brink of collapse, but I’m still ruling
during dangerous times. Many of the Senators are battling for control amongst themselves,
and many people in the country are hoping for me to make a wrong move.” Anden falls
silent for a second. “One moment won’t keep me in the people’s favor forever, and
I can’t hold the country together alone.”

I know he’s telling the truth. I can see the exhaustion in his face, and the frustration
that comes with being responsible for his country.

“When my father was a young Elector, he and my mother ruled together. The Elector
and his Princeps. He was never more powerful than he was during that time. I’d like
an ally too, someone smart and strong whom I can trust with more power than anyone
else in Congress.” My breathing turns shallow as I take in the offer he’s circling
around. “I want a partner who has her finger on the pulse of the people, someone extraordinarily
talented at everything she does, and someone who shares my ideas about how to create
a nation. Of course, one couldn’t go from Agent to Princeps in the blink of an eye.
One would need intense training, instruction, and education. An opportunity to grow
into the position over the course of many years,
decades,
to first learn as a Senator and then as the Senate’s leader. This is not training
to bestow lightly, especially upon someone without Senate experience. Of course, there
would be other Princeps-Elects shadowing me as well.” He pauses here; his tone shifts.
“What do you think?”

I shake my head, still not quite sure of what exactly Anden is offering. There’s the
chance to be the Princeps—a position second only to the Elector. I would spend almost
every waking moment of my life in Anden’s company, shadowing his every step for at
least ten years. I would never see Day. This offer makes the life I’d imagined with
him waver unsteadily. Is Anden offering this promotion purely based on what he thinks
of my capabilities—or is he letting his emotions influence him, promoting me in the
hopes that he might get a chance to spend more time with me? And how can I
possibly
compete with other potential Princeps-Elects, some of whom will probably be decades
my senior, perhaps already Senators? I take a deep breath, then try to ask him in
a diplomatic way. “Elector,” I begin. “I don’t think—”

“I won’t pressure you,” he interrupts, then swallows and smiles hesitantly. “You are
absolutely free to turn this down. And you can be a Princeps without . . .” Is Anden
blushing? “You don’t have to,” he says instead. “I—the Republic—would only be grateful
if you did.”

“I don’t know if I have that kind of talent,” I say. “You need someone so much better
than I could ever be.”

Anden takes both of my hands in his. “You were born to shake the Republic. June, there
is no one better.”

THE DOCTORS DIDN’T LIKE ME IN THE BEGINNING. The feeling was pretty mutual, of course—I
haven’t exactly had the best experiences in hospitals.

Two days ago, when they finally managed to get me off the balcony of Denver’s Capitol
Tower and calm the massive throngs of people cheering me on, they strapped me into
an ambulance and took me straight to the hospital. There, I shattered a doctor’s glasses
and kicked over my room’s metal trays when they tried to check me for injuries. “You
put a hand on me,” I’d snapped at them, “and I’ll break your goddy necks.” The hospital
staff had to tie me down. I screamed myself hoarse for Eden, demanding to see him,
threatening to burn down the entire hospital if they didn’t deliver him. I shouted
for June. I yelled for proof that the Patriots were released. I asked to see Kaede’s
body, begging them to give her a proper burial.

They broadcasted my reactions live to the public because of the crowds that had gathered
by the hospital, demanding to see I was being treated properly. But gradually I calmed
down, and after seeing me alive, the crowds in Denver began to calm down too.

“Now, this doesn’t mean you won’t be closely watched,” my doctor says as I’m given
a set of Republic collar shirts and military trousers. He mumbles so the security
cameras can’t pick up what he’s saying. I can barely see his eyes through the glare
across his tiny, round glasses. “But you’ve been fully pardoned by the Elector, and
your brother Eden should be arriving at the hospital any minute now.”

I’m quiet. After everything that’s happened since Eden was first stricken by the plague,
I can barely comprehend that the Republic is going to give him back to me. All I can
do is smile at the doctor through gritted teeth. He smiles back at me with an expression
full of dislike as he goes on about my test results and where I’m going to live after
all this is over. I know he doesn’t want to be here, but he doesn’t say it aloud,
not with all these cameras on. From the corner of my eye I can see the one monitor
on the wall that shows me what they’re doing to June. She appears safe, undergoing
the same inspections as me. But the anxiety in my throat refuses to go away.

“There’s one last thing I’d like to tell you in private,” the doctor goes on. I listen
halfheartedly. “Quite important. Something we’ve discovered in your X-rays that you
should know about.”

I lean forward to hear him better. But at that instant, the room’s intercom blares
to life. “Eden Bataar Wing is here, Doctor,” it says. “Please inform Day.”

Eden.
Eden is here.

Suddenly I couldn’t care less about whatever my goddy X-ray results are. Eden is outside,
right beyond my cell’s door. The doctor tries to tell me something, but I just push
past him, throw the door open, and stumble out into the corridor.

At first I don’t see him. There are too many nurses wandering through the halls. Then
I notice the small figure swinging his legs on one of the hall’s benches, his skin
healthy and his head full of wayward, white-blond curls, dressed in an overly large
school uniform and kid-size boots. He seems taller, but maybe that’s because he’s
able to sit up straighter now. When he turns toward me, I realize that he’s wearing
a thick pair of black-rimmed glasses. His eyes are a light, milky purple, reminiscent
of the young boy I’d seen in the railcar on that cold, sleet-filled night.

“Eden,” I call out hoarsely.

His eyes stay unfocused, but an amazing smile blooms on his face. He gets up and tries
to walk toward me, but he stops when he can’t seem to tell where exactly I am. “Is
that you, Daniel?” he says with shaky hesitation.

I run to him, scoop him up in my arms, and hold him tight. “Yeah,” I whisper. “It’s
Daniel.”

Eden just cries. Sobs wrack his body. He tightens his arms around my neck so fiercely
that I don’t think he’ll ever let go. I take a deep breath to contain my own tears.
The plague has taken most of his vision, but he’s
here,
alive and well, strong enough to walk and talk. That’s enough for me. “Good to see
you again, kid,” I choke out, ruffling his hair with one hand. “Missed you.”

I don’t know how long we stay there. Minutes? Hours? But it doesn’t matter. Time ticks
by one long second after another, and I make the moment stretch out as much as I can.
It’s as if I’m standing here and hugging my entire family. He is everything that means
anything. At least I have this.

I hear a cough behind me.

“Day,” the doctor says. He’s leaning against the open door of my cell, his face grave
and shadowy under the fluorescent light. I gently put Eden down, keeping one hand
on his shoulder. “Come with me. This will be quick, I promise. I, ah . . .” He pauses
at the sight of Eden. “I recommend you keep your brother out here. Just for now. I
assure
you that you’ll be back in a few minutes, and then you’ll both be driven to your
new apartment.”

I stay where I am, unwilling to trust him.

“I
promise,
” he says again. “If I’m lying, well, you have enough power to ask the Elector to
arrest me for it.”

Well, that’s basically true. I wait a while longer, chewing on the inside of my cheek,
and then I pat Eden’s head. “I’ll be right back, okay? Stay on the bench. Don’t go
anywhere.
If someone tries to make you move, you scream. Got it?”

Eden wipes a hand across his nose and nods.

I guide him back to the bench, then follow the doctor into my cell. He shuts the door
with a soft click.

“What is it?” I say impatiently. My eyes can’t stop turning toward the door, like
it’ll vanish into the wall if I don’t stay vigilant. Against the corner wall, June’s
monitor shows her waiting alone in her room.

But the doctor doesn’t seem annoyed with me this time. He clicks a button on the wall
and mutters something about turning the sound off on the cameras. “Like I was saying
before you left . . . As part of your tests, we scanned your brain to see if it had
been altered by the Colonies. We didn’t find anything to worry about . . . but we
ran across something else.” He turns around, clicks a small device, and points to
an illuminated screen on the wall. It’s displaying an image of my brain. I frown at
it, unable to make sense of what I’m seeing. The doctor points to a dark splotch near
the bottom of the image. “We saw this near your left hippocampus. We think it’s old,
probably years old, and has been slowly worsening over time.”

I puzzle over it for a while, then turn back to the doctor. It still seems trivial
to me, especially when Eden is waiting out in the hall. Especially when I’ll be able
to see June again. “And? What else?”

“Have you had any severe headaches? Lately, or within the last few years?”

Yes. Of course I have. I’ve had headaches ever since the night that the Los Angeles
Central Hospital ran tests on me, the night I was supposed to die, when I ran away.
I nod.

He folds his arms. “Our records show that you had been . . . experimented on after
you failed your Trial. There were some tests conducted on your brain. You . . . ah”—he
coughs, struggling for the right words—“were meant to succumb rather quickly, but
you survived. Well, it seems that the effects have finally started catching up to
you.” He switches to a low whisper. “Nobody knows about this—not even the Elector.
We don’t want the country to be thrown back into a revolutionary state. Initially
we thought that we could cure it with a combination of surgery and medication, but
when we studied the problem areas closer, we realized that everything is so entwined
with healthy matter in your hippocampus that it would be impossible to stabilize the
situation without
severely
impairing your cognitive capacity.”

I swallow hard. “So? What does that mean?”

The doctor removes his glasses with a sigh. “It means, Day, that you’re dying.”